Drive
by Marka.Carbondale
Summary: Blaine never felt safe in all the places he should have. Never at home, certainly not at school. But flying over those winding roads at over twice the speed limit, Blaine Anderson felt downright fearless. No pairings.


**Drive**

Fingers curled around the fine leather of his steering wheel, Blaine feels empty. He stares at the glass of his windshield through the glint of sunlight and faint reflection gazing back at him. Absentmindedly, Blaine runs his thumb along the smooth wheel with a frown. His eyes fall shut. Against the overwhelming sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, he struggles with a memory that he knows will be vivid once he can wrap his hands around it.

Sliding his hand once more along the steering wheel, Blaine can still remember the familiar grooves worn by a hundred thousand miles of love. It hadn't all been his, but he had loved her all the same. If he squeezes his eyes tight enough, he's back in that driver seat with the hot vinyl sticking to his legs beneath his shorts. She was a beautiful truck, and though at sixteen he knew he was "definitely gay"—his words, not his father's, for once—his gently used, previously loved Chevy S10 was all woman. He'd named her Bette—Davis, of course—from the moment he'd handed over that stack of worn bills and drove her off the lot. And Bette never let Blaine down. Not once.

Those country roads stretched out forever and ever. Every fork in the road and crossroad always filled Blaine with a feeling that out there, away from home and behind that worn, beige wheel, the world was full of endless opportunities. He could take a left down the familiar road or a right down one he'd never traveled before and end up somewhere he didn't even recognize, but he would never be lost. Each deep inhale of freshly clipped grass entranced Blaine in a dizzying world of simplicity. All there ever was on those roads was the memorization of a new curve or a reunion with a sharp incline, and nothing had ever given him such an exhilarating high than watching that needle inch closer to infinity as his foot encouraged the gas pedal further.

When he hit that first road, before they began to split off into seven or eight other potential adventures, that's when he really flew. He always liked to think that he could have driven those first four miles with his eyes closed. Blaine trusted Bette, but not quite that much. Still, it was enough to ease her gas pedal as far as she'd allow and hug those curves edging on ninety miles per hour. Blaine never felt safe in all the places he should have. Never at home, certainly not at school. But flying over those winding roads at over twice the speed limit, Blaine Anderson felt downright fearless.

Driving Bette along the beautiful country roads, sometimes for hours, Blaine chased away every doubt and fear that life in his rearview mirror threatened. By the time he leaned into that first curve, always grinning at the little thrill the drop-off to the right gave him, he couldn't remember the bruises from the locker shoves or the wounds his father left with his words. And though he always knew that he must return, the Anderson estate was the farthest thing from his mind.

It wasn't all he had, certainly not. There were the few friends he'd had at his public school, then the many more he'd make at Dalton, along with Warbler meetings and other clubs he'd excitedly joined. But it wasn't always enough. The weekends he came home were still often lonely or difficult, and Bette was the only one who understood him.

Blaine opens his eyes and brushes his hand along the pristine black of the dashboard, warm in the sunlight. The stereo is one of those touch-screen types and was playing some musical internet radio station, but he pauses it. The Lexus sedan truly became silent once the stereo powered down, no gentle reminder of Bette's clucking engine. He knew the luxury car could take the curves of his roads just fine, knew that he could explore and drive no differently than he had with Bette. But it would be different. Because he had never felt as empty as he'd felt as the day he'd walked out of his house, ring of keys in hand, and was faced with that black Lexus in her place. Blaine rests his head against the steering wheel, remembers the drop in his gut when he looked at the ring in his palm and saw a sleek, electronic key in Bette's copy's stead.

"It's not an appropriate car for you to be driving to that school," Blaine's father had said. "What will people think?" his mother had asked, eyes trained on her _Wall Street Journal_. Blaine had offered no answer, just nodded at no one in particular and walked back out to it. As he ran his hand along the perfect, black paint, he had briefly thought how his father had not asked him if he liked the Lexus or not. But shortly after this thought had entered his brain, he had stepped back from both it and the car. Instead, he wondered how much his father had gotten for Bette, or if he had truly sold her like he said. Blaine was more inclined to believe that she was sitting in some junkyard somewhere, about to be torn apart for her parts. No other person would wear love into her steering wheel or buff her until she shined. No one would ever be proud of her again. When he placed his hand on the door of the Lexus, he shuddered. Bette had been the result of months of work and saving, had been his therapist and friend and confidant. This Lexus would only be a car.

Blaine has not felt that exhilarating feeling that Bette had given him since that day. Neither has he been down those roads. Those were their roads, and they're certainly no place for a luxury car. Its only purpose would be transportation now.

Blaine has had to seek out other thrills, for he knows that he'll never find that happiness that bordered on mania in black leather seats. Other things have given him joy and continue to give him joy, but in the midst of a 110 degree summer, trapped at home with only the despondent company of his parents, those things seem vague and far away. Instead, in his left hand, he can feel the crumped paper balled in his fist. Though it pales in comparison to those country roads, it still thrills his spine in a familiar way. All he knows is that he needs to find something to thrill him and take him away from everything he cannot escape if he is meant to spend the rest of the summer here.

Blaine unfolds the paper and reads it once more. Ten digits, under a name written in all caps, are scrawled there. He doesn't know exactly what will happen if he dials them and meets the person on other line, but as the phone hums its connection in his ear, it feels like he's just taken a turn down one of those untraveled roads with Bette beneath his fingers.

The person who answers sounds nothing like what he expected, voice suggesting that whoever he's going to be meeting up with shortly isn't much older than he is. Somehow that is comforting.

He pulls out of the driveway in silence, knowing he needn't tell anyone that he's leaving. His parents are either used his absence or do not notice. Blaine is long past the time where either answer would bother him. Instead, that little thrill at the base of his spine has got him speeding along the mostly empty roads to the totally empty park. A person would have to be insane to willingly hang out in public on a hot day like this. Blaine supposes that is why the person on the phone—Sebastian was his name—wants to meet here. Not exactly inconspicuous, but definitely empty.

He's wearing clothes his father would have scolded him for, but he's glad. The heat is unbearable and the oversized tank top and rather short athletic shorts are about as much clothing as it allows him. Blaine crosses the lawn with a sort of steadfast stride he's never quite felt before as he seeks out the path with the most shade. It's only when he's about halfway through the park that he realizes he doesn't have an exact location or a familiar face to look for. Then again, who else would be here?

Pausing in the shade and trying to ignore what the sweat is doing to his hair, Blaine takes a look around the abandoned park. A breeze rustles the leaves and he accepts it graciously as it cools his heated skin. Finally, he spots someone lounging impossibly on a bench in direct sunlight, wearing all black. Furrowing his brow, he wonders what kind of person would not at least wait for him in the shade and wonders if perhaps this person is a bit crazier than he'd thought. Still, it's not enough to defect him from his path and he begins forward into the sun.

However, just as he is about to approach this kid, someone's unfamiliar voice calls out his name. The boy on the bench is unfazed and continues with what Blaine can only assume is some very intense, bizarre tanning. Wheeling on his heels, he moves in the direction of the voice and sees a tall, lithe boy motioning to him from under a tree. Without another thought of the boy lying in the sun, Blaine tries not to hurry across the lawn towards who he assumes is Sebastian.

"Blaine?" He asks simply, in the same voice from over the phone. Blaine nods just once and Sebastian gestures towards the parking lot. Blaine recalls some pre-school lesson from his youth about not talking to strangers or getting in their cars, but then realizes that he's probably already broken a dozen other rules that come far before that one and climbs into the passenger side seat of Sebastian's impressive looking BMW crossover.

"Don't get any wrong ideas," Sebastian grins at him. "This was a gift from daddy. Although, I don't do too badly for myself."

Blaine smirks similarly at the way Sebastian bites the otherwise endearing term towards his father. He wonders if perhaps Sebastian, too, owned a beat-up little pickup truck. However, as Sebastian pulls out a pipe and baggies from his leather bag, he doubts it.

"You done this before, Blaine?" Sebastian is smirking like that cat from that movie Alice in Wonderland. Blaine can't remember the name but he can remember that smile, and Sebastian might as well have practiced it he's got it down so well. Blaine shakes his head. "Thought so. No big, I'll walk you through it. I don't imagine we'll run into any trouble sitting here in the safety of my tinted windows." Sebastian's hands are working of their own accord, his eyes trained on Blaine's. It stirs his stomach in a strange way. "Just a little, this time. Just a taste. Then you'll know what you want."

Blaine nods, unable to speak while is stomach is twisting in tight knots. Yet he doesn't tell Sebastian to stop, to put the drugs away or that he's changed his mind. In fact, watching him work between glances at that Cheshire Cat smile—that's right, that's the name—he even licks his lips in anticipation.

Sebastian finally finishes his work and holds up the pipe towards Blaine. He attempts to take it from him, but Sebastian shakes his head. "Told you I'd walk you through it, Blaine. Trust me." He has no real reason to trust this stranger, but Blaine notes that he is the friendliest drug dealer he's ever met. Not that he's met any other drug dealers as far as he knows.

Blaine nods and narrows his gaze at the glass pipe, swirled with colors and with one shard of clear something in its bowl. Sebastian holds up a lighter, looks Blaine in the eye and asks him if he's ready. That pipe is a right turn instead of a left, Blaine tells himself. He knows he can shake his head, get out of the car, and take the left and go home. But he feels Bette beneath him in that moment and nods. Sebastian's smirk broadens impossibly.

"One inhale. One easy inhale. Okay, Blaine?" His eyes scan Blaine and then return somewhat knowingly. "I'm certain you are a superstar, but we've got time and I want you to enjoy this."

"Alright," Blaine finally speaks, surprising himself with a steady tone.

"Good, good." Sebastian flicks his thumb once, twice, and on the third a flame bursts into ignition. Blaine bites his bottom lip and chances a look around. Whether it's to ensure the safety of Sebastian's tinted windows or perhaps for some sort of sign to deter him, he isn't sure. However, he does see the boy from the bench, partially drenched in sweat and walking across the park towards the parking lot. He eyes him for a second, almost expecting him to peer into the car and catch them, but he merely climbs into his black Range Rover and drives off. If he was meant to be some sort of sign, then it wasn't one for Blaine to leave.

Blaine returns his gaze to Sebastian, then to the pipe being held up to him. Leaning forward, he wraps his lips around its cool glass, remembers that any turn down any unknown road was always a good decision, and that it never disappointed him. Obediently, Blaine inhales gently, lets the unfamiliar sensation of smoke infiltrate his lungs. Sebastian pulls the pipe from his lips, tells him to exhale before it hurts. The smoke was bitter and burned all the way down and Blaine doesn't know when to let go, so he coughs it back up. He expects laughter from Sebastian, but instead he's taking his own hit from the pipe.

And then it hits him.

That right turn takes him from Bette's worn seats to the drop-off of a roller coaster, stealing his breath and absolutely electrifying his brain. This is nothing like driving down the country roads in his old pickup truck. This is racing through the jungle. This is free-falling from the top of a building. Bette had sent his blood racing and heart pounding. That one hit is electricity in his blood and a jet engine in his chest. Blaine doesn't just feel fearless. He is capable of anything, knows he is able to achieve the impossible.

Sebastian is grinning at him still, but now with wider, excited eyes. "Now you get why they call it 'speed,' huh?" He holds up the pipe and lighter, "Want more?"

Blaine can't imagine feeling better than this, could not possibly fathom a more exhilarating feeling. But he wants it. He nods as he takes the pipe in hand, mimics Sebastian's motions before with the lighter. As his heart pounds impossibly and his mind begs for satisfaction, he feels no disappointment, just as promised. However before he inhales, he recalls that even after hours of taking unfamiliar roads with Bette and ending up in towns he'd never even heard of, that he'd always made it home. It had always been so necessary and possible to return home from those drives. But that feeling is so weak and meaningless beside the power that one brief inhale of meth has given him.

He sucks another longer, easier pull from the pipe, feels more relaxed through the inhale and exhale. Jumper cables attach to his mind and shudder a thousand volts through his whole body. He grins, lying back in the seat as Sebastian reclaims his pipe. A brilliant chuckle escapes from his lips, bursting forth into full-blown laughter. Sebastian says nothing, just joins in with him instead.

Once silence reclaims the car, the boy in the driver seat begins to take his third hit. But Blaine just smiles, staring out into the overwhelming gleam of sunlight through the windshield. Looking into that blinding light, Blaine realizes that he has no idea what roads to take to get back this time. This thought merely sends one more shuddering laugh up his spine.

To no one in particular, Blaine Anderson says with irrevocable surety, "Why the fuck would I ever want to go back?"

_**A/N:**_ _I have no idea I just wrote a thing_

_maria_


End file.
